Such is the nature of man to think of things eternal, forever, until one day it comes and they pass away, like sunset. We get better as we experience, for how we believed we’d never love again upon our first heartbreak, and time indeed healed those wounds. Effects sometimes lingered, it is true, but it is our choice whether we are open or closed, however the world conspires to make us. It is a splendid and fearful thing we are given, in such freedom. For sometimes even emotion listens to reason, if we fight to decide wherefore our hearts perceive. The heart wants what it wants, but one thinks we learn things that effect something of how it wanders. And at the heart of the heart: that we are made in the image of love itself, if we follow the logical conclusion: God is love, and we being the image thereof. (Thus, sometimes in whispers, it knows what it knows.)
